Carnival
by Lirazel
Summary: They both know life isn’t sweet, and neither one of them believe in fairy tales.  [Veronica and Dean and chances] [SupernaturalVeronica Mars crossover]


Carnival

They both know life isn't sweet, and neither one of them believe in fairy tales. (Veronica and Dean and chances) (Supernatural/Veronica Mars crossover)

_A/N: This is a series of completely unrelated drabbles, all one hundred words in length—they aren't meant to tell one coherent story but bits of several, some happier than others. Because I can't imagine a universe in which Veronica and Dean wouldn't be drawn to each other._

_Disclaimer: They belong to Rob and Kripke respectively. Although I'd be more than grateful if Kripke wanted to give Dean to me._

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Cotton Candy

They both know life isn't sweet, and neither one of them believe in fairy tales. Nightmares, they believe in—horror stories and urban legends and things that go bump in the night. They believe in keeping the few people you can trust close to you. They believe in protecting those they love, no matter the cost to themselves. They believe in guns and blood and rain clouds and watching the ones you love be stolen away forever.

And maybe they believe in happiness, but only because there has to be something to melt away in the rain when it comes.

Rollercoaster

She takes one look at him and knows he's like Logan. Broken abandoned strong little boy is written all over his face, and just like with Logan, she knows he's only got one thing to live for (at least with him, it isn't her—she never could deal with that pressure).

She remembers what she said to Mac about rollercoasters and Piz and a nice, smooth ride (_Piz is like the merry-go-round; it stops before it can get you sick_). But she throws back the shot, heads across to the bar, and sits down beside him.

She's always preferred rollercoasters.

Carousel

This isn't going anywhere, and he knows it, and for the first time in a long time, he actually cares about that. She's hot enough for a one night stand, and this town's just like any other, but her eyes have as many sharp edges as his, and he thinks that maybe, in a world where he didn't have the responsibilities he does, there could be a them.

Of course, in that world he wouldn't be the kind of guy who would be drawn to those edges.

Their ragged edges fit together perfectly, but this will only last the night.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Dean Winchester is the biggest pain in the ass Veronica Mars has ever met—and she's known plenty. There's the cocky grin, the swagger, the absolute conviction that he's right, his patronizing tone every time he address her, his refusal to let her carry a gun.

But then there's his desperation to protect "Sammy," his belief in family, the way he talks about his parents…. Maybe he's not so bad.

Maybe…?

"Move your hot ass, sweetheart. I know you wanna take a long moment to check me out, but demons ain't gonna wait for that."

Nope. Still annoying as hell.

Clown

She was tiny and perfect, but anything but fragile, and that just made him want to protect her more. She was the first person he'd ever seen walk into this life with both eyes open, no past with supernatural tragedy, no last resort. He's pretty sure now that he loved her from the beginning for those very reasons.

One minute she's tossing him a good-natured insult, the next she's lying on the floor and the blood is pooling around her. She's smiling a little, and he knows what the joke is: that he ever thought he could keep her safe.

Funhouse

They bring out the best and worst in each other, all extremes, till there's no safe middle ground and they're both unfit for a normal life. But maybe they were never meant for that, anyway. Maybe they don't even want it anymore.

They compare scars and stories of close shaves, and it's a little twisted, but it's the only kind of comfort they know. After hunts, they cling to each other with a ferocity that would scare anyone else, but it's their version of love or something that comes pretty close. They've forgotten what normal is, and they don't care.

Balloons

He's jealous of her relationship with Dad—he resents it—and though she can understand why, it's the thing she hates most about him. He feels the same way about Wallace and Mac and Lilly's memory and even Logan, all these people she loves and would do anything for. He only has Sam and her, and though he's always said that that's enough, she isn't sure he really believes that.

If she could only make him see that in their lives, he's the lucky one: every person you care about means one more person you're only going to lose someday.

Bumper Cars

It quickly devolves into screams and accusations and name-calling, as it always does. It isn't even the words that matter anymore, it's the exhaustion behind them that cuts so deep. Every argument is like a surrender, and not the good kind. Neither of them can admit to each other or even themselves that they're both petrified of being left alone once again. They have definite ideas of what weakness is, and neither of them is willing to crack first and admit how much they need each other. Instead, they throw around words like knives.

Both of their aims are true.

Tilt-A-Whirl

She's curled up in the backseat of the Impala, and she kind of looks like she belongs there. Wrapped in his leather jacket, cuts crisscrossing her face, her eyes are closed, but she's singing along with "Ramblin' Man." He's done a good job of keeping the grin off of his face, but when Sam catches him glancing in the rearview mirror for the seventeenth time, his brother smirks at him.

He reaches over and smacks the back of Sammy's head, because little brother's got it all wrong: he's no thirteen-year-old in puppy love.

At least that's what he tells himself.

Ring Toss

She tries not to laugh at his ludicrously obvious one-liners, but she can't help it. He's much too pleased with himself, and the last thing he needs is an ego-boost, but she hasn't felt this happy in a while, and she doesn't care. She doesn't care that she's about to become one in a long list of girls he's charmed or that she figured out mere hours after he got into town that he's the same Dean Winchester wanted on suspicion of murder in St. Louis, along with dozens of other charges scattered across the country. Veronica's sick of caring.

Fortune Teller

There's sun and sand and, god, this is a cliché, because she's blonde and looks great in a bikini.

Of course, she's also got a taser gun in her bag, a pit-bull at her side, and a tongue that can slice him in half, but that's all part of the appeal.

He remembers eighteen months ago, striking a desperate bargain at a crossroads, and thinking quite clearly: _hell for all eternity_.

Well, like the song, he may not be able to tell heaven from hell, but he's pretty sure this ain't the latter. Sun, AC/DC, a beer, and Veronica.

Heaven.

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